Shame
by Passionworks
Summary: When death hits you, you realize that you lost a little something along the way... Oneshot rated for implied character death.


Shame

By: Passionworks

The palace garden is your playground, your little piece of Heaven. The leaves on the trees are a ripe, fresh green that mask you in a cool shade. Grapevines and fruit trees offer you sweet little bites of the earth's majesty. The roots are deeply embedded under the ground, drinking the dew and the moisture of yesterday's rain shower. The sun is out today and is grinning from ear to ear at its little descendants. It shines and swelters with a spiritual pride, happy to share its abundant energy with its firebenders.

You see Agni in that rotating ball of heat. With each dance of fire that escapes you, you hold your flattened palms in front of your stomach: the sign of respect and gratitude. School has taught you that fire develops in the stomach but is nourished by the dedication of the heart. It is like a baby in a mother's womb. Maternal love feeds into its growth; it did the same for you.

And yes, once upon a time in a land not so far away, you were born into this world. You cried and opened your newborn eyes to the sun. It blessed you that day, and that adoration has never left you.

_Fire is life; a heart that beats like a clock in perfect rhythm._

_But it burns too; your skin peels and the sting is unbelievable._

But you do not ever cry. You never shed a single tear.

Because pain is _weakness._ It is shallow to reveal it to the world. The struggle is what marks you, deems you a warrior; brave at heart.

War is not a _man's_ game to gain glory. It is not reasonable to see _only_ man's blood spilled on the battlefield of expansion.

You dream, dream often. You want to change the nation you love, make it a _woman's_ world.

Your eyes wander a bit. You take in the morning sky. The blue wraps itself around the downy clouds of infinite shapes. You ponder their forms, recognizing a few gruesome images here and there.

You see the flames for what they _truly_ are to the Fire Nation.

_It is conflict, bloody and treacherous._

_It is a casualty, piles upon piles of hopeless victims on the other side of the fight._

The prophecies of the dragons went extinct along with them.

The teachings of the Sun Warriors lived only to die too.

There is no _life_ in fire. Satan's robust heart beats into its development. The serpent of temptation calls it for the kill.

And you_ wish_ to kill, yes you do. You want to hear the voices of desperation, the mercy pleas of forgiveness. You want to be the dominant, power conceiving at your breast.

You curse your youth. You are barely a bender; fire a juvenile yellow as opposed to the magnificent orange and rare blue.

You crave the cold, the heartlessness.

Rare like the blue benders of your breed.

_A prodigy…_

A sound breaks you. It is a gentle call, a song in the sun. You marvel at it because it is gorgeous.

Your gold irises take in the light of the sun as they focus on a simple robin in the tree above you. You share the shade with the bird, a mutual connection between man and beast.

You see its feathered wings expand and it floats gently in the soft breeze of the day. Though the act is a simple one, its _liberation_ is awe-inspiring.

You wish that you could fly, to _free_ yourself from all of your hardships for just one moment.

To get away from the hate.

_Father is always away._

_Mother considers you a monster._

_Zuko ruins your good name._

You envy the creature: jealous to your very core.

You feel the flames swell in your palms. The drive of death is a hot one; your fingers are dripping with sweat. The fire laps up the liquid and the sustenance is quite intense.

Your fist clenches so tight that your nails break your tender skin. The blood and the heat are invigorating, the smell of fresh meat.

The flame roars at climax. It is like a comet at the break of day, soaring at a thrilling pace.

Your ears find arousal at the screech of impact. The tiny bird's figure is engulfed in your pitiless blaze. It goes limp with a thud.

_Silence as loud as laughter…_

You step forward in the triumph of the kill, your head held high like the snobbish noble that you are.

The bird's feathers are singed with black. The ashes of the cremation are a signal of success, a brave and meaningful demise.

But something eats at your heart. Your beats are increasing, your pupils dilating as well; shock like the lightning that lights up the gray sky when the rain pours overhead.

You sense a tug at your legs like shackles dragging you down. At the stimulus, you fall to your knees, the grass tickling at your bare skin.

_This is shame, your conscience unraveling before you,_ your mother sneers.

_Shame: regret, guilt, and anguish._

_Why did you have to die?_

_Because death is pride and life is mercy: a coward._ Your father's stern voice hisses in your face. You feel the warmth in his breath, repugnant and foul.

And the electric charge dashes at your soul. It rumbles there for what seems to be an eternity, reverberating and bouncing off the walls of the pumping muscle.

And you trace its exit out of the small of your back. You can feel the blood oozing from the wound like a waterfall that never ceases to empty.

Your fingers probe at the opening where your heart was.

And you sense nothing, just a gap, emptiness. It is like a black hole in space that sucks up the bitterness of the atmosphere.

_Mother always said that monstrosity leaves you heartless._

And you fall, eyes glazing over in passing. And it is cold, so _unbearably_ cold.

And that jealousy that propelled you is still there; in the mist of the warm sun, on your fleshy, mortal corpse.

_Because freedom is dead._

_As you are dead._

_That is the conscience._

_What a shame…_


End file.
